Daring, Darling
by Conversation16
Summary: A young woman Wendy Darling is living alone in her Aunt's apartment writing stories to earn her keep. And even though she is now living her London dream, she feels trapped. She yearns for adventure and finds herself again whisked to Neverland. But how did she get here? And why has it all changed? Hook/Wendy xx
1. Chapter 1

Hello dear ones, I am starting a new story and I hope you will join with me on this journey. Rated M for future chapters, this story will follow the journey of Wendy Darling and her return to Neverland. Please enjoy, I have a surplus of time on my hands currently and hope to update often.

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 **Chapter One**

The room was warm and amber light danced around the walls, spilling out onto the dark wood floors. Wendy Darling smiled gently, imagining it not to be the light of a sitting room fireplace, but rather the hearth of the Faye where a magnificent ball was taking place. The flames flickered and the reflection on the floor looked so nearly like the glistening light from her daydreams. Papers gently blew with the cold London air and shuffled on the desk in front of her. Wendy sighed and turned her grey London eyes away from the fire and towards her writings. It was true what her Aunt had said about a writer's life not being one those of high society smiled upon and thusly it did not bring in the money Wendy needed to maintain the upkeep of her Aunt's city apartment. And although she did have boundless stories to tell, there wasn't a high demand for those containing dragons, pirates and princesses with fierce wit and an even fiercer blade. In an effort to keep the balance between following her dream and keeping food on her table she was recommended by a dear friend to write a romantic satire like the great Jane Austen, or a more mature novel and follow the foot steps of Charlotte Brontë. Wendy sighed again and fixed her curls that framed her face back to her loose bun and secured them with a pin. She held her pen to the blank paper and began to think. What is it that the people out there wanted to hear? They wanted to hear stories about mundane people falling in love with other mundane people, a little miscommunication and a climax before a happy marriage and children ensue. A happy ending.

She frowned, her forehead pinching. She couldn't fathom how people could live such a life. She smiled fondly at the fire dance again and remembered her distant memories of Neverland.

Yes, how on earth could people be satisfied with such a dull life? Wendy put the pen down and sat on the window sill in her nightgown. Her lady-like nature was still lacking, even at the ripe age of nineteen, but of course the thoughts of people staring up into her window from the street below was far from her mind. The snow was falling gently and the crisp December wind was biting at her pink cheeks. Wendy looked up at the night sky and watched the twinkling stars wink at her. Second star to the right and straight on to morning she whispered to herself, she held out her finger and closed her eyes feeling the stars with her mind. She could trace their outlines and with her eyes closed she almost felt like she was soaring over them again.

Every now and then, she looked at her childhood friends getting married and being courted and wondered what that must be like. But in the same course, she remembered her dear friend Peter and mused at how all this time where she had grown up, he would still be the same twelve-year-old boy she remembered so fondly. She was jealous of course, but she knew she had made the right choice in coming home. Of course he had never come to visit her again, and as she had grown she had almost become thankful. His brash and arrogant nature would only annoy her now and she would struggle to have the same patience she once had. It seemed though, even after Peter, all the men in her life were just children in suits anyway. Her suitors would expect her to do everything, and much like the relationship between her very own mother and father she could see who the true adult was. Her father, strong and wise as he was, was partial to throwing childish temper tantrums and it would be up to her mother to soothe him. Wendy wasn't sure she wanted to be a mother to both her children and her husband and so had refrained from the dating world for a while.

In the very corner of her mouth she felt her kiss burning as a snowflake settled on her lips. A very chill breeze came from the North and caressed her neck like a steel, cold hook. She gasped and opened her eyes, clutching her throat. The night was still and the stars glistened. Wendy shook her head and muttered to herself before closing the window and setting herself down on the bed. She'd have to try writing tomorrow or else what was her purpose here? It had been nearly a year now since dear Aunt Millicent had passed away to the fever and left the beautiful apartment to Wendy. Having no children of her own, Aunt Millicent had asked Wendy to live with her nearly six years ago, and although her Aunt could never understand Wendy's mind, they did become dear friends and it pained Wendy to live in this great house alone.

A great romance, Wendy mused staring at the ceiling. What was so great about the romances she saw? Of course she'd never experienced any of them first hand, and maybe that is why she had such trouble writing but what was it that drew people to the idea of true love?

She thought about writing a great novel about her friend Rose and her new husband Thomas, the accountant. She giggled and wondered what on earth the story could be. Maybe Thomas would steal money from the bank and he and Rose would hit the ground running. The authorities after them and a new baby in arm as the spring rolled around. Now there would be a great story, but alas, Thomas was a straight and serious man, Wendy couldn't fathom the idea of him ever having such a sense of adventure. In fact when she pictured the great kiss scene she groaned and rolled over, a kiss between Rose and Thomas was just about as interesting as a wet newspaper with all the letters merging together.

She lay on her side and closed her eyes tight and let the shapes of her characters become blurred and greyed until they finally they began to take shape again in her mind. She imagined herself and a beautiful stranger. Her brown curls pulled up into a carefree braid, her bonnet cast aside. It would be a beautiful summers day with flowers, trees and somewhere in the distance the sound of a waterfall. The air would be sweet like honeydew mixed with sea spray and in her hand would be a book she had been reading. He would take her by surprise, her great love, the one that she had never thought she would see again. He would grip her by the waist and pull her to him with such force the wind would be knocked out of her. His piercing blue eyes passionate and gentle, fierce and deep were pained but also echoing with happiness. She would look away feigning confusion and uncertainty. His left hand would pinch her chin and pull her London grey eyes back to his. Her mouth would part and whisper something like, "I thought you had forgotten me" to which he would smile and kiss the corner of her lips where her secret kiss hid but upon his touch yielded and opened to him. He would bring up his right hand to brush the hair out of her face and while she stood staring deeply into his eyes she would see them change from the deepest blue to the most foul and bloody red as his cold, steel hook touched her face.

HOOK!

Wendy sat up abruptly breathing heavily. Her eyes darted around the room and she grabbed the dagger she had hidden in her bedside table; her Neverland ways had not yet forgotten her. Gripping the dagger fiercely, her eyes adjusted to the dark room. Her curls fell on her dangerous eyes and she looked sharply, surveying the bedroom. The room was silent and no dastardly pirate was lurking in the shadows. Her breathing slowed and she realised she had just been taken by a dream. She breathed deeply and placed a sweaty hand to her neck. Unnerving as the dream was she supposed it was completely understandable. Captain Hook, although the memory of him was foggy, was the only truly exciting man Wendy had ever known. He was dangerous, yes, unbelievably so. His dark tangled curls, strong masculine physique, deadly charm and vicious eyes. All these features were threatening enough, but, it was his silver hook that put a well deserved shiver down her spine. She, herself, had told the stories of how he gutted people without a hint of remorse. He was a cold, blooded pirate.

But that said, he was also passionate and adventurous. And as Wendy frowned she thought, the men of London offered no such excitement. She wondered what she might do if he were indeed in her bedroom. Seeing her reflection in the silver of the dagger she smiled, she would of course stand up and face him. She would swing her dagger and attempt to pierce his body cloaked in rich velvet. She put the dagger back in her side draw and lay back again staring at the ceiling wondering if, being the gentleman he was, her being in a state of undress would unnerve the vicious pirate. She grinned and said a quiet "I do believe in fairies" before sitting up, lighting a candle and getting to work on her new novel.


	2. Chapter 2

The London air was foggy and crisp on the early morning as a very tired, but also incredibly excited Wendy made her way down Kensington Drive towards her publisher. Her hair was pulled up in a hasty manner, her curls leaping free from the pins and ribbon. Her cheeks were pink, blushing from the kisses of the early morning frost. She had been up all night writing and now had the official first few chapters to submit to her publisher. Bound in brown leather the pages bore excitement and controversy as an average day London lady falls in love with a completely terrible, utterly cruel and vicious pirate. This, she was sure, was the love story the people wanted to hear. No more mundane stories about societal pressures and discord between families, now was the time for sword fights, a do or die attitude and a deeply passionate relationship.

And so as she turned her heels, grinning ear-to-ear and headed into Kensington Gardens she hummed quietly to herself. She smiled gleefully at the fellow morning walkers; men bristling on their way to work, nanny's taking children out in their perambulator and of course the occasional police man busy reprimanding the degenerates and women of the night still littering the otherwise beautiful serene park. The trees loomed over Wendy and she imagined she was in an ancient garden untouched by civilisation. Placing a hand on the cool, dark, bark of a tree she closed her eyes and felt for a pulse. The swaying up above seemed to whisper to her and she watched as the leafless trees bared their souls to the grey London sky.

Small children darted in and out of the walking ladies and gentlemen and she could hear a clock tower in the distance chime seven. The publishers would be open by now and Wendy quickened her pace, her blue gown trailing behind her and her heels clicking on the uneven ground. When she finally arrived she took a moment to breathe deeply before entering with her most professional smile. A receptionist woman by the name of Eliza took her name and asked her to sit in the waiting room, which, even this early in the morning was filled with gentlemen and their rich cigars. Catching a glance of herself in the reflective glass she pulled her hair back into the bun and tried to fix the unruly curls with little to no success. The smoke in the room was heavy and when her named was called she could hardly see Mr. Parry, her former publisher standing in the doorway awaiting her appointment.

"Good morning, Miss Darling, I hear you have an exciting new novel in the works" he said, his voice dry and cracked as usual. His office was a warm mahogany and deep emerald green, and like usual, was in an impeccable state. He was a short and rotund man with a greying moustache, which stood in contrast with his balding jet, black hair.

"Good morning, Mr Parry" Wendy said and sat in the arm chair opposite the huge desk in the centre of the room, "yes, I think I may have something that you will be very excited about"

"It's not another long winded children's tale is it Wendy? Because, I tell you, I cannot for the sake of this company attempt to push another on of those tales-"

"No, no, no, not this time. I promise" she replied promptly, waving her hands in front of her. He sighed and touched his moustache, sweat beading on his forehead. He walked back and forth along the length of the desk, trailing his fingers and inspecting for dust.

"Because really, Miss Darling, you will singlehandedly bankrupt this company. There just isn't a demand for stories with pirates, faraway lands and fairies, I'm afraid. The people just won't buy it, and you as an author cannot afford another failed book. Your reputation is already dwindling, and you don't want that do you?" he smiled curtly and sat down.

Wendy played with her skirts and looked up through her eyelashes anxiously. Mr Parry like a bloodhound shot up at her uncertainty and groaned in dismay.

"This story…" he said after a pregnant pause, licking his dry lips and running his hand through his thinning hair, "it wouldn't happen to have pirates in it, would it Miss Darling?"

"Yes but," she started and he slammed his hand down on the table. Shrinking in her chair she tried to make a case for her new book but Mr Parry cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I like you Miss Darling, you're a bright girl, your stories do wonders for the imagination…but I am sorry, I am so very sorry. I simply will not, rather, can not read another of your novels just knowing that in the end it will leave me sitting in my bosses office as he deducts further funds from my Christmas bonus. I have a family, you know? And my boys, they love your books. They do. We buy everything you have, but it seems…it seems my dear, we might be the only ones. And for that reason…I am going to have to permanently remove you from our publishing list. You are no longer an author we can rely upon to turn a profit. I am so, very sorry Miss Darling," he said quietly, finally looking at her eyes. She sat there silently, not portraying an ounce of emotion.

"Very well, thank you for your time" she smiled forcibly and took the leather bound chapter from the desk, "enjoy your Christmas holiday in Brighton" she said as she closed the door and left the office for the last time.

Mr Parry was a sentimental man, and although he knew he had done what was best for the company he felt his hands shake beneath the desk as he delivered the news. Why couldn't the girl just give him a book he could sell? He was dearly fond of her, she was one of his favourite writers and he was honest when he said he read her novels to his children. But in early 20th century England, not many people could afford to dally in the pretty daydreams of a young woman who knew nothing of the real troubles people faced. What use are stories of fairies and mermaids when there was very real poverty on people's doorsteps. Stories of social climate, love, pain and reality was what people wanted, which was something Miss Darling seemingly could not offer. He had asked her, on more than one occasion to just write a love story. Just one, and see how it fares, her writing style was beautiful. She was eloquent and gripping with her words, a love story would throw her amongst the stars. He shook his head and placed his head in his hands, why oh, why could this girl just not be like everyone else?

Wendy walked out of the building with as much poise as she had entered with, of course her excitement had been extinguished in the most brutal manner and she was deeply heart broken. Waving at the receptionist she took the short walk across the road and into the park. When she was amongst the trees she sat on the soft grass against a tall oak tree and let out a tremendous sigh and finally here with the publishing building out of view she let her emotions breath. Her eyes glassed over and with deep seated rage she flung her leather case a few yards from where she was seated. Feeling concerned eyes on her she regained her poise and lay down staring at the treetops and ashy clouds.

 _He did not even bother to read it_ , she thought with disaffection. What would she do now? Find another publisher, she supposed. But what would she tell her mother and father? While her brother John was finishing up school and suited up for a scholarship to Oxford and her younger brother Michael being scouted by the army for his athletic potential, Wendy felt like a failure. Maybe she should have just taken her first suitor and become a practised house wife like everyone had wanted. Maybe growing crazy from being locked in all day and having her imagination stifled until she wilted and withered was truly the best option.

She imagined herself in a grand house with a boorish husband who smoked and held card nights with his distinguished doctor and lawyer friends while she sat up in the bedroom reading novels that romanticised the domestic life. She would learn how to arrange flowers, and would entertain for other established couples. At night after giving herself to her husband she would lay there cold and empty, proper and civil. At this thought Wendy allowed a single tear to fall from her crest-fallen face. Her body shook and she sat up gathering her things. At that moment she noticed something strange.

On the path just in front of her was a perambulator, abandoned by the guardian. Wendy stood up and walked over curious, glancing around for anyone who might look like they are missing a child. As she approached she caught a glimpse of a little boy reaching out and trying to touch the fringe of the sun protector, at that moment the carriage breaks must have gave way. The perambulator started rolling backwards, off the path and down a green and forested hill. Wendy shrieked and broke into a run after the runaway baby. Jumping over logs and brushing away twigs she ran as fast as her long skirts and heeled boots would let her and yet the perambulator flew just meters in front of her. Below the both of them at the base of the hill was a dark river and Wendy gasped as the carriage headed straight for it. The baby was now crying and Wendy pulling hard against a branch caught on her skirts leapt forward, not even aware of her ripped and torn gown. She leapt forward and reached for the baby and the world seemed to move in slow motion, she felt a root catch on her boots and she tripped and flew forward with force. The carriage hit the water and without a splash Wendy fell in immediately after. Bringing her arms up to brace herself for the cool water Wendy clenched her eyes shut.

But to her great surprise the cool wind of falling seemed to only increase in force and change from the frosty, quipping London air to a sweet and salty warm air. Opening her eyes, she gasped and began to scream as she found that she was not falling towards a lake, rather she was several hundred meters above what looked to be a tropical island and she was falling straight towards it!


End file.
